


luv luv luv

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, The Academy Is...
Genre: 90's Music, Feminist Themes, M/M, Riot Grrrl, queercore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:46:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: people talk aboutlove love love love loveand it sounds likeblah blah blah blah blah





	

"i was fifteen/i liked to start fires/and drive my parents truck to the jasper store"

Patrick is fresh into high school when he hears his first Pansy Division song. 

It’s on a mixtape that he gets from his friend Jamia, stuck among Bikini Kill and Siouxsie. It’s called Anthem, and Patrick listens to it with reverent ears. Hs considers it a religious experience.

He isn’t exactly a subtle person, and when he asks for his local record store to order Undressed by Pansy Division, the employee raises a pierced eyebrow and writes it down. 

-

"ticking in time with the hand grenade" 

Patrick feels very fortunate to live in such a big city, because that means he can see about 1000 live bands whenever he wants. This is how he first sees Arma Angelus. 

Him and Jamia are still friends, about a year after his first gay punk experience, and they go to a lot of queercore shows together, so it’s only natural that they would hang out at some skeevy bar to watch a guy sing about how he loves cock. But Arma is different.

Because it’s not “a guy,” it’s Pete Wentz.

Patrick is vaguely familiar with him, because he was in some other queercore band that Pete never warmed up to, but when he steps onstage, dreadlocks swinging near his shoulders, Patrick thinks he’s in love. 

They introduce themselves as Arma Angelus and they launch into a song about an ex boyfriend who was apparently a huge dick who had a huge dick. No joke. 

The music is like a sore throat, hard to ignore and bothersome, but Patrick loves it. He immediately throws himself into the pit, and is followed by Jamia. They look out for each other when they do this, so she doesn’t get her top pulled up and so he doesn’t get called a faggot for the Hole button on his jacket and the God Is My Co-Pilot patch on his jeans.

When their set was almost over, Patrick grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her, gesturing outside. He wanted to see if Pete would leave the venue in time for curfew so Patrick could…. Well, he didn’t really know. Talk to him? Stare at him? Whatever it was, he was urgent to do it.

Jamia groaned and dislodged herself from the crowd, escaping on the other side. Patrick did the same, ducking, until he felt an explosion of pain above, below, and basically all around his left eye. 

He stumbled blindly putting a hand to the area where he felt uncomfortably like someone had just smashed a beer bottle over his face.

“Hey! Who the fuck just hit that kid in the eye with a bottle?” Patrick heard, and he vaguely recognized the voice as Pete’s and him as the kid before he felt himself falling, falling, falling.

Patrick wakes up and the first thing he smells is blood. A lot of it. 

He then notices everything else: The dim lighting, the ceiling with the piping criss-crossing it, a hand on his arm. The hand is calloused and scratchy, a boy hand. If he was more conscious, he would have blushed. 

“Hey,” He heard a voice faintly. “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey. You’re awake.” 

The voice, again, was Pete’s. 

Patrick tries to lift his head, but he groans when pain shoots through his skull. “Yeah, man, you got busted with that bottle pretty hard. No glass stuck in your face, I don’t think. But your friend Jamia had to get it out of your hair.”

Patrick blinked and eventually, with extreme effort, turned his head to face Pete. He looked kind of awkward, sweat staining the collar of his shirt and a tight-lipped smile on his face. Still as hot as he was on stage, though.

“She also totally beat the shit out of the guy that bottled you.” Pete said, small smile turning into a 1000-watt grin. “It was awesome.”

Patrick smiled too. “I, um, liked your show.”

“Thanks.” Pete said. “We’re kind of shit but we opened with Bikini Kill last summer so we can’t be that bad.”

Patrick couldn’t help but gasp, even though it hurt. “No shit! Did you meet Kathleen Hanna?”

That made Pete laugh until he was doubled over, the sound echoing through the room. “I knew you were a fag. No straight boy would be that happy about Kathleen.” 

Patrick wanted to be offended, but he couldn’t, because he knew it was true. “Yeah, man. She’s awesome.”

At this moment, Patrick heard the door open and the music that had been manageably muffled became louder. He winced, and Pete turned around. “Dude, shut the door.”

The door slamming hurt Patrick’s head more than the music, so he squeezed his eyes shut and only opened them when he heard Jamia’s soft girl-voice. “Hey, Pat.”

“Just because I’m injured doesn’t mean you can call me that.”

Pete laughed again. 

“Whatever. Listen, Frank is gonna pick us up in like ten minutes. You’ve got a cut on your face, but it isn’t that bad. Sleep over at my place, tell your mom that you tripped, you’ll be fine.”

Jamia was an interesting person. She was very soft-spoken and quiet, but she could also be bossy and demanding. He guessed it was what her elaborate circle of girlfriends and boyfriends liked about her.

(He had yet to figure it out exactly, but he thinks it goes Lindsey + Jamia + Frank + Gerard, where Frank and Lindsey and Jamia and Gerard are the ones who aren’t dating.)

“Alright.” Patrick said, blinking at her. She had a large bruise peeking out from her shirt collar. One of her flaws was that, like Frank, she liked to get into fights a little too much. Or it might have been from when her and Lindsay disappeared into the bathroom during lunch at school yesterday.

Patrick decided that he should sit up, so he gritted his teeth and pulled himself up. The room was kind of disgusting, cobwebs in the corners and floors filthy with unknowable substances.

“I know. This place is a fucking toilet.” Pete said, looking around and wrinkling his nose. “The rest of Arma left, but I thought I’d stay. You ever bring a boyfriend here?”

Jamia raised an eyebrow, and Patrick narrowed his eyes at her. He knew that she was saying, “Pete totally has a thing for you, have you told him you’re sixteen?” 

Patrick hadn’t planned on it, and he hoped that his look back at her portrayed this. “No, actually. I’m single.”

“So, Pete, where do you go to school?” Jamia asked, sounding innocent. “We go to Glenbrook South.”

He saw the panic in Pete’s eyes as he realized that Patrick was a high schooler. “Oh. Um, well, I go DePaul. College.” 

Patrick internally groaned. Of course this guy, who was hot and nice and not straight, was like seven years older than him. 

“What do you major in?” Jamia asks, stepping around him to sit on the couch next to Patrick. 

“Political Science.” Pete said, scratching the back of his neck. “It sounds boring, and it kind of is, but I’m alright at it. I like the band better.”

Jamia looked at her watch. Patrick hadn’t realized that it was really late, almost 1am. He was tired, and his head ached dangerously. All he wanted to do was curl up on the guest bed in Jamia’s house and sleep.

“Well, if you ever wanna come to another show, you can call me.” Pete said, and saw Patrick’s confused face. Pete pulled a Sharpie from his pocket and gestures at his hand. 

Patrick couldn’t help but grin. Jamia was right, Pete did want him. He put his hand on Pete’s knee.

Pete grabbed Patrick’s outstretched hand and scribbled down his number. Jamia looked at Patrick with a raised eyebrow, and Patrick stuck out his tongue after he made sure Pete wasn’t watching. 

Of course, he didn’t plan to seduce Pete. He didn’t want to get him arrested. But he was seventeen, turning eighteen soon, and he needed to keep Pete in his eye until he was legal. There weren’t really a lot of gay people that were particularly out and proud, but Patrick didn’t him to be snatched up by the first twink he happened across.

(Not that he thought Pete was slutty.)

Jamia looked at her watch again and stood up. “Frank’s probably here by now. We gotta go.” 

Pete immediately shot up, holding out his hand to help Patrick up. It wasn’t every day that you met met a guy who was gay, courteous, and almost legal to date. Patrick grabbed his hand and pulled himself up, cringing at the pain. 

Jamia left, leaving Pete and Patrick momentarily alone. 

“Hey,” Pete said, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry for hitting on you. Thought you were like, twenty, at least.”

Patrick smiled. “It’s fine. I’ll be eighteen soon anyways.” 

He left, feeling flustered and confident and achey. 

-

"your eyes tell me all i need to know"

The next time he saw Pete was at a Pansy Division concert, almost a month later. Patrick found that most important moments in his life were set to Pansy Division. 

He was with Frank and Gerard this time. Jamia and Lindsey had decided not to go, calling it their “Fag Night.” That had made Frank laugh so hard he almost pissed. 

Gerard was fun to attend concerts with, simply because he emits a presence (and body odor) so off-putting that the crowd created kind of a bubble for them to stand in. Gerard was nice, but he kind of looked like a serial killer. 

Frank was fun to attend concerts with because he was an absolute lunatic, jumping and shoving and kicking and in general being an asshole. He, like Jamia, loved fights, and he started many with his behavior.

He sees Pete in the crowd, bobbing vaguely to the music. In the few phone conversations Pete and Patrick had, Pete had expressed that Pansy Division was definitely not his favorite. 

(The only reason Pete and Patrick hadn’t talked more was that Patrick didn’t feel like explaining that he was talking to a 23 year old man. He wasn’t even out. Their conversations were mostly ten minute flirt sessions while Patrick’s mom was buying groceries.)

Patrick jabbed Frank in the ribs, who turned around with a murderous glare before seeing it was Patrick. “Yo!” Patrick said, loudly, into Frank’s ear. “I see someone I know, I’m gonna go say hey!”

Frank wiggled his eyebrows, and Patrick flipped him off. Frank was obsessed with Patrick’s love life, probably because Frank was so successful in his own. Gerard listened indifferently, Patrick probably wouldn't have even know Gerard was listening if him and Gerard hadn’t been friends since the seventh grade. 

Patrick elbowed his way over to Pete, who was now staring at the bottom of his cup. 

“Hi!” Patrick said, poking at his shoulder. Pete looked up, surprised. He had shaved his dreads off, which Patrick felt himself become disappointed at. They were pretty awesome. But you could see more of his face with his shaved head, which Patrick definitely wasn’t complaining about. 

“Oh,” Pete said, smiling. “Hi.”

“You replaced me yet?” Patrick asked. 

It was Pete’s turn to shake his head. “I actually came to see you. Well, kind of. My friend William is around here somewhere, he’s a superfan.”

Patrick knew William. He, a long time ago, concluded that all gay people in Chicago knew each other. 

But it wasn’t hard to know William. He was a club kid, and he crashed just about every party Patrick had ever been to. He wore tiny short-shorts and v-necks that plunged down towards his belly button, and his long hair was always held in a bun to reveal his large hickeys and extravagant makeup. His boyfriend was semi-famous and William didn’t let anyone forget it. 

Patrick liked William. Everyone liked William. 

“Sick.” Patrick said, grabbing Pete’s cup and drinking what was left. Coke. Ew. He tried to not gag. 

Speaking of the devil, it was then that William emerged from the crowd and came up to Pete, grinning. “God, this song is fucking amazing. Who’s your little friend?”

Patrick was a little starstruck. William was practically royalty, in his ill-fitting holographic tank top and glitter caked below his eyes. “Um, I’m Patrick.”

“Aw,” William said, as he grabbed Patrick’s cheek and squeezed it. “A baby fag. You’re adorable. How old are you?”

Before Patrick could answer, William grabbed his hat and put it on his own head, turning to Pete, looking for validation. 

“You look dumb.” Pete said, snatching it from William’s head and putting it back on Patrick’s. “He’s seventeen, by the way.” William pouted at him.

He was starting to hate his age. 

They all vaguely danced to the music, William mostly moved his hips, Pete moved his head up and down like he was nodding, and Patrick just kind of slowly shifted his weight back and forth on his legs. 

When the set was over, Pete said he needed to talk to Patrick outside. This wasn’t terribly unusual. It was hard to get a word out that could be heard beyond the whooping and hollering of the crowd. They made their way outside, past the crowded merch tables.

Before Patrick knew what was going on, Pete grabbed his face semi-aggressively and kissed him square on the mouth. It seemed like a sixth grade kiss, awkward and closed-mouthed. When Pete pulled away, Patrick looked at him, trying to not focus on those hands on his face. Jesus. 

“Hey,” Patrick said. “Are you trying to get arrested?”

Pete smiled, his thumbs moving slightly along Patrick’s cheeks. “Looked in the library. Age of consent here is seventeen.”

It was Patrick who went in for the kiss this time, wrapping his arms around Pete’s waist.


End file.
